Poison
by Londra
Summary: “He glared at her, venom pouring from his steely grey eyes, turning into a violent serpent, ready to attack, to destroy, to kill.” Enmity grows, until every inch of their bodies are burnt black with hatred, ready for war. Oneshot. DARK. DracoHermione.


**Disclaimer: **Fortunately, I don't own Harry Potter. That is, for the psychological health of the human race.

**Summary: **"He glared at her, venom pouring from his steely grey eyes, turning into a violent serpent, ready to attack, to destroy, to kill." Enmity grows, until every inch of their bodies are burnt black with hatred, ready for war.

**Rating: **R (Restricted – not suitable for readers under 17) For dark themes and scenes of violence.

**Fiction Rating** : M (Contains content suitable for mature teens and older) Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16 with possible strong but non-explicit adult themes, references to violence, and strong coarse language.

**A small bit of information: **I am positive that Malfoy Manor is located in Wiltshire. I did a little research, and found it out in HP-Lexicon.

**Author's Note: **Inspired by the phenomenal work of Gravidy, particularly _The Crimson Jess. _Hope she doesn't mind._

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**POISON**

_**September 27, 1998**_

It was one of those particularly vivid sunsets you only get in late autumn, or maybe early winter: the ones where the daytime is slowly dying and knows it. The ones where the sun looks like a disc of flawless gold, perfect light, as if it's trying to make a last defiant stand, wrestling to prove its glory, even as the clouds above turn pink and orange and blood-red, last light soaked into cotton candy.

Malfoy Manor stood high and proud despite its solemn emptiness. A cool autumn breeze was chilling the air, carrying the distant scent of the dying flowers into the huge garden. The stone walls were solid and frigid, holding every single tiny memory of the Manor.

He was wondering around in a reasonably large room, his bored eyes in search of something alive. His face lit up in a very faint smile, when he saw two brown eyes staring up at him from the distance.

He sat down in front of the fire, stroking the beautiful black cat, which kept on throwing him irritable glares.

How much life had changed for him, throughout these three months. Three months. He wasn't the man he used to be.

Nothing was the same, nor it would be.

Things had changed.

Some for the good.

Some for the bad.

He had changed.

A little for the good.

A little for the bad.

Someone knocked on the door, interrupting his thoughts.

"Come in." he growled, annoyed by the interruption. A tiny house-elf rushed in, its bulging eyes wide with panic. Its ears were flapping up and down.

"Master, you have visitor. Miss Parkinson come here. Skippy said wait outside. She not listening to Skippy." He squeaked.

"Well then, let her in." he ordered, and as the elf left to leave, bowing until his ears brushed the floor, Pansy Parkinson pushed the door open. The elf turned around and hurried off.

Pansy strutted in. Draco ran an eye over her, from head to heel. She was wearing black, high-heeled boots, almost reaching up to her knees. Quite a distance after the long boots, a red skirt started, barely covering her hips. On top of that, she was wearing a black turtleneck sweater. She had large hoop earrings dangling from her ears and her face was covered in make-up. Her blonde hair was straightened, reaching the small of her back.

"What brings you here, Parkinson?" he asked to the unexpected visitor.

"Why, Draco. I didn't know I needed an invitation to come here." She answered, smiled and sat down next to him on the couch. She looked at the adorable black cat with large brown eyes on his lap and with a completely fake grin, said

"Nice cat." The cat turned to glare at her, swiftly leaped off his lap and headed for the luxurious basket beside the window, and burrowed its head into its soft fur, drifting into a sleep. "A little sensitive, I see." She sneered

"She isn't used to visitors." He snapped, obviously not wanting to talk about the issue.

"Very well then, I assume you would like to know why I came here all the way from London to Wiltshire." She asked, meanwhile searching her spacious snakeskin bag for something, obviously rather small.

"Very much indeed, Parkinson. I assert it must have an important reason." He replied, his voice holding a tiny hint of sarcasm. She continued searching through her bag and finally pulled out a long piece of parchment and a case. She carefully opened the case and pulled out an old quill. The quill itself didn't look valuable enough to be handled in a case, but he supposed she must have a good reason to do so. She carefully laid the quill down on the table and turned back to Draco Malfoy.

"Yes, actually it does. You see, I have been sent here on the behalf of the _Daily Prophet _and the Wizengamot. If you agree, I will interview you on the events of the war and it will also count as your testimony for the court. If you refuse, you will have to go to London and testify for yourself. Did I make myself clear?" she explained.

"Inescapably." He replied stiffly. He didn't like this, whatever it was. He had a bad feeling in him. But then, he always had a bad feeling in him. Plus, he didn't feel like going to London and going on trial. Especially not about the war.

"Well then let's start. You wouldn't mind if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill, would you?" Pansy chirped.

"A _what_?" he asked.

"This" She picked up the old quill from the desk. "is a Quill used by Rita Skeeter herself." She replied proudly, holding up the quill as if it were something very precious.

"Rita who? Whatever. Who cares? Go on. Let's get this over with." He muttered. However, Pansy looked offended.

"What do you mean _Rita who?_ Rita Skeeter was one of the most important reporters for the _Daily Prophet_. Now, she runs it herself and se is my boss since I work for the _Prophet_. She was awarded Order of Merlin third-" her mini-speech was cut in by an irritated voice.

"Pansy, do stop lecturing me about some sodding woman and start the goddamn interview, will you?" he said exasperatedly, taking a break from the great act he had been putting up since her arrival.

Taken aback from the sudden change in behaviour and the solemn rudeness, she decided to drop the subject and cleared her throat. She knew better than to argue with Draco Malfoy at this point.

"Umm… Yes, then could you please explain how-…"

ooo-ooo-ooo

**_THE DAILY PROPHET, September 28 1998_**

_Draco Malfoy and the War **–** by Pansy Parkinson_

_Draco Malfoy, who now lives in the gorgeous Manor, a part of the inestimable Malfoy Estate, by the countryside of Wiltshire, yesterday kindly accepted to give an interview to the _Daily Prophet. _Being a lonesome and vulnerable young man, living in the huge Manor without any company, he was glad to have a visitor. Soon, the topic changed to the recent war, which he was already too eager to discuss. It is understandable, having to live with the memories of the dreadful war alone, must have been overwhelming. _

_His own words as he witnessed his best-friend Blaise Zabini's death, express his affliction. "…and then Ron Weasley, who had to do his job of course, sent the killing curse at him. I do not blame him. But I wish Blaise were still alive."_

_We move on to his mother, Narcissa Malfoy, and he gets a little more sensitive. "I never saw the moment of my mother's death, and I am grateful for it. However, I saw the sight of her lying in front of my favourite professor, Severus Snape, their wands still pointed at each other. I miss her very much, as I miss the strong advices of my professor, which he kindly gave when I was in need of guidance."_

_When the topic comes to his father, honourable wizard Lucius Malfoy, who was a very kind and noble man, but unfortunately corrupt by He-who-must-not-be-named, his beautiful light blue eyes fill with tears. "He was my hero. I wanted to be like him when I grew older. I still cry about him during nights. The Manor seems so cold without him. Once, when I was four…" _

_He starts telling one of his happy childhood memories, which is evidently very important to him._

_When he receives the very last question about when he last saw Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived, or nowadays more commonly known as the-vanquisher-of-the-evil, what he tells us is very interesting indeed. _

_His information is now recorded as the most late sighting of Harry Potter, his very close friend at Hogwarts, alive. "…and then when I entered the dungeon, I saw the horrible sight of the two of them dead. They were lying on the floor motionless, both of their wands were on the floor, each broken into two pieces. I suppose brother wands don't cast offensive spells to one another. I assume they had the fatal damage when they first tried to use the killing curse on each other…"_

_Lastly, he offers his condolences to every one else who knew Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger and all the others who bravely fought and sacrificed themselves, helping the good triumph._

ooo-ooo-ooo

"Bitch." He muttered under his breath, as he folded the latest edition of the _Daily Prophet _and tossed it into the fire.This was her way of making him pay. Twisting what he had told her, even if they were downright lies. Telling the public what they wanted to know.

Lies.

Every one wanted lies.

Every one asked for lies.

No one asked for the truth.

No one needed to know the truth.

No one knew the truth.

Except him.

_**May 14, 1998**_

Wonderful. Another potions lesson.

A cruel smirk found its way through Draco Malfoy's ghastly pale lips, giving them a slightly crooked position, as he walked towards the Slytherin Dungeons along with Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson. His two bodyguards, Crabbe and Goyle were marching behind him, just in case of another attack.

ooo-ooo-ooo

As the war between the evil and the good drew closer, another battle brew, inside Hogwarts. The more Slytherins became Death Eaters, the more Gryffindors joined Dumbledore. Some Hufflepuffs supported their beloved headmaster, while most preferred to stay out of it. Ravenclaws went to select the logical choice, surprisingly some leaving for alliance with the Slytherins.

After the school was literally divided into two, both sides drew back and started planning. After a few weeks of laborious work and brainstorming, both sides had a plan.

By Gryffindor, the younger kids were told to stay out, and not to get involved with anything. They were taught to defend themselves if needed, but other than that, they held no part in this war. However, the Slytherin House proved its aims, by even teaching the first years how to cast offensive spells.

After the Gryffindors found out about this, they knew what they were facing. This would be a hard war. It wouldn't be smooth and easy. They had to be cautious, and they couldn't afford being gracious. The rules of war now applied to them.

Luckily, they realised this before it was too late. They started making a new plan, which involved tricks, blackmails and violence. The plans conflicted with the morals of the Gryffindor House. No one dared to speak up.

This was war.

The sly techniques of the Slytherin, fought with the equally sly Gryffindors, who hadn't bothered to keep their nobility and dignity. They fought unfair, cheating and harsh. There were no rules. Damage and survive. Violence gripped the ancient castle of Hogwarts, and the teachers didn't even try to stop it. They knew they would be fighting a losing battle. The headmaster was too busy minding his own business, he barely showed up in school. The restricted section of the library was overflowed with students going through books containing the Dark Arts, trying to learn more powerful ways to damage.

The Hospital Wing was always too busy and some students were even sent to St. Mungo's. Madam Promfey was losing her mind, all the beds were over occupied and she was running out of potions to fix broken bones or to mend scathed skin.

Random students attacked others at random times, in random places. You passed corridors expecting to be disarmed or stunned. Wands were never left in pockets. They were out, ready to defend. The Quidditch Cup was abandoned, students using the spare time to practice curses.

The first and second years walked in large groups, all trembling with fear from any attack. The third and the fourth years fought each other, thinking they were doing a great thing.

They didn't grasp the severity of the situation. They just played along. It soon became a matter of life and death, after Terry Boot, a Ravenclaw was tortured to death by the Slytherins, his dead body found close to the Forbidden Forest.

Every night there were secret meetings held in both, the Gryffindor and Slytherin towers. Any person suspected to be spy or traitor was immediately discarded and his or her memory modified. It wasn't a kids game anymore. They were grown-ups, and they were going to play with the grown-up rules. Kill or get killed.

The four school tables were joined together two by two, defining the bold line between the two sides. Students sat regarding their side on the war, not organised by Houses. Teachers who objected, just wasted time for no reason. The only thing the teachers had word over was the lessons' continuation. Most subjects, such as Divination, Muggle Studies, Care for Magical Creatures, Astronomy, Herbology, Arithmancy and Ancient Runes were already cancelled due to lack of participation. The teachers were managing to hold up just the few left, which were Defence Against the Dark Arts, Potions, Transfiguration and Charms. Students fought, while the teachers watched. The whole school was ruled by two kids.

The leaders, supported by two loyal friends each. Unlike the others, these six fought in a much different concept. One for each.

Harry Potter against Draco Malfoy. The supreme boy-who-lived versus the almighty king of Slytherin.

Ron Weasley against Blaise Zabini. The most faithful and trusty redhead versus the ruthless and harsh pureblood.

Hermione Granger against Pansy Parkinson. The bookworm know-it-all versus the sneaky and dodgy Slytherin princess.

These six had another style. They didn't strike or duel with wands. They had different ways to conquer. They tricked, blackmailed and threatened. They clawed, ripped and scathed. They showed their teeth only when necessary, otherwise acting civil and mannerly. No one would have suspected they were enemies, except the whole school already knew. They never attacked one another physically. Their war was inside. It was not shown to public. It was the fiercest, cruellest and the most brutal feud.

Soon they started showing their real faces.

Ron Weasley had the Zabini Manor burnt down. No one was killed, but his dear home had gone.

Their payback wasn't kind.

Pansy Parkinson gave the order for Hermione Granger's parents to be murdered. Then, she wrote a letter to her, giving her detailed description of what she saw when she was watching. She spilled words onto a piece of parchment as if an easy and painless Avada Kedavra wasn't enough. She gave details about the dark curses performed on them one by one. She explained how their flesh was ripped to pieces, how blood stained the carpet. She didn't miss out to describe them as accurately as she could, as if she had done it herself.

No matter how hard her friends tried to convince her to drop the piece of parchment, she read it over and over again. Crying senseless every night, until the truth sunk in.

This was their war. Soon, they would take it over from the grown-ups. The adults were done with their roles. The actual war itself would be handed down to them. They had to fight, if they wanted to survive. They needed to learn, and they didn't need the lessons for that. They learnt it the hard way, by experience.

Harry Potter was excused out of most lessons. He was being trained for war by various members of the Order. He was taught a large variety of spells, and necessary Dark Magic. Alastor Moody discovered his ability to do a different type of Dark Magic, which was transformed by Lord Voldemort and he improved that. Nymphadora Tonks found out about his weakness against the memories of his parents and they made him get over it.

His memories of the past, of his parents dying to protect him slowly wore off his mind. To be able to conquer Voldemort, he would have to be prepared. And his weaknesses got in the way. There was no room for weakness in the heart of a hero.

When the training ended, he would have the skills of a fully qualified auror and he was going to fight. He was going to fight, and he was going to win. He was going to complete the task he was born to do. A flame was burning inside his emerald green eyes, and nothing else mattered for him. Not Sirius, not Dumbledore, not anyone. He had suffered too much. All of his humane emotions had dried out, except for hatred. His hatred was flowing in every single drop of his blood, making it almost black.

He was like a fierce lion, ready to kill. He had accepted there was no other way. He had to kill, so he was going to kill. He didn't sleep, he didn't eat, he didn't smile. He wasn't the gallant, noble and dignified boy he used to be anymore. He was vehement, ferocious and rough. He planned and he attacked. He was the commander. He did not feel compassion, he did not sympathize. He fought and he dragged people along with him.

Draco Malfoy spent all his spare time practising the Dark Arts and teaching it to the sixth and seventh years around him. He did not wish for the golden boy to win. He wasn't going to let him. He had already suffered too much because of him, and he wanted revenge. For once, he wanted things to happen the way he wanted them to.

He gathered his entire house and made meetings convincing them to join him. He was Head Boy, and that made things easier for him. Unlike the Gryffindors, he also pulled the younger ones into the fight. The more, the better. He didn't care about what happened to them. As long as he won.

He hated everyone around him. He would get every single one of them back for what they had done to his life. He would rise the family name and honour. He would prove his superiority, his power. He was a Malfoy, and he would make sure people knew what that meant.

This was his battle. His loyalty lay nowhere. Not with the Dark Lord, not with his father. Voldemort was just a half-blood lunatic who believed in the purity of blood. Ironic. There were more important things to worry about rather than how "pure" your blood was.

He did not follow his father, because he had graced the Malfoy name. Malfoy's didn't serve anyone. He broke the tradition when he joined the Dark Lord. Malfoys weren't supposed to join. They were to be joined. He had been brainwashed, blindsided.

He wondered why so many people had joined him. However, he just played along, because he knew which side had power. There was no good or evil. There was power, and those too weak to seek it.

If he had to play beside Voldemort to gain power, why not. It was a great tool, completing his image as the King of Slytherin. That way, he would gather more people to back him up.

He also held a inheritance of the Malfoy line, a very powerful one. He could perform the Dark Magic of Morderens, which was a branch of the Dark Arts, which made people remember their worst pains and fears when you looked into their eyes. He would sometimes go and show off his ability to perform Mordere, leaving trembling first years behind.

Not because he enjoyed doing that, but because he needed people to know what he was capable of doing. He knew what he could do, and he didn't need to prove anything to himself.

Ron Weasley had gotten over his complexes of being the second best and finally grasped his position in the war. He had already accepted the fact that he had a very small chance of survival. His duty was to make sure Harry got as far as he could, and if he had to die taking him further, he would.

He was not scared of death anymore. He understood what Sirius had meant when he had said "_There are things worth dying for."_

He had had a long conversation with Dumbledore and he came out, completely fearless and brave. He tried to make things as easy as he could for his best friend. He tried to lift the burden off his shoulders, as much as he could. He always stood right beside him.

Dumbledore had offered him the position of Head Boy beforehand, but he had refused, wanting to stay with Harry as much as he could. He knew where his loyalties lay, and he wouldn't give them up for anything, even the position of Head Boy.

Blaise Zabini had been sent to Draco Malfoy last year by his father. Draco Malfoy, glad to see the son of an honourable pureblood family, had willingly taken his offer and included him in his inner circle.

He fought with him. As long as he stuck beside Draco Malfoy, he would also be respected by the others. He didn't intend to leave his side, and he couldn't anyway under the orders of the Dark Lord.

He would be branded Death Eater this summer, just like most of his housemates. He believed in the purification of blood, and he would fight for it. He wanted to show the world purebloods were better.

His house had been burnt down by Ron Weasley, and that made him cling onto the war and want to get him back for it. Thankfully no one had been injured, but it was still an attack and it needed a response.

The silent Slytherin became ruthless and bitter. He was cruel and he wasn't afraid of showing people what he knew. Draco had taught him the Dark Magic of Morderens. He enjoyed the Dark Art he learnt. He loved practising. Learning Morderens turned you into a sadist, who enjoyed seeing people languish, and he had become one of them.

He was also dating Pansy Parkinson, which happened kind of naturally.

Pansy Parkinson's family had been in close relation with the Malfoys for a long time and she had been Draco Malfoy's friend since they were babies. She always backed him up, if he needed something and now when he needed her the most, she wouldn't leave his side. She had always been the one to take his place when he wasn't available, meaning when he was too bored to mess around with the younger students.

She was the Princess of Slytherin and her words were mostly obeyed, just like Draco's. She was also in the inner circle of Draco Malfoy, completing the group of three. She fought fiercely and mercilessly, just like she was expected to. Most little Slytherin girls idolized her and she was proud of it.

Hermione Granger was one of the most important pawns of the light side. She was clever, witty and talented. However, her bravery and courage even surpassed her intelligence, being the reason she was placed in Gryffindor.

Unlike what many people thought of her, she was no longer the innocent and naïve girl she used to be. She had mastered the Dark Arts throughout her sixth year, also teaching it to her peers in the DA, which she was in charge of, since Harry didn't have enough time.

Her parents had been murdered under the orders of Pansy Parkinson, and now she had nothing to lose. She was as fierce and as angry as she could have been. The sorrow of the loss was still inside her, and what was keeping her sane was the thought that she could at least be useful for the whole wizarding world. She stood up straight next to her best friend while gathering the third, fourth and fifth years up.

She understood how hard it was for Harry to deal with things, and she sadly watched as her once lively and energetic best friend was slowly drained of any human emotion he had. It killed her, seeing him like that. But she knew there was no choice. If he wanted to conquer Voldemort, he had to be powerful and he gained the power he needed at a terrible price.

She spent most of her time in the library, checking for any other offensive spell left, memorising them one by one. She felt like she needed to know every single spell to be able to help Harry.

She had also become Head Girl, accepting Dumbledore's offer so that she could help Harry better with the authority she had. It didn't mean much now, but it still gave her the satisfaction of knowing she at least held some power over the younger Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws.

Underneath all this chaos, there was no room for love left, not at all…

ooo-ooo-ooo

The three leader Slytherins made their way into the frigid Slytherin dungeon, and dumped Crabbe and Goyle who hadn't been able to make it to Advanced Potions. They took their usual place at the back row and took their fat Potions textbook out, along with luxury quills and some parchment.

Draco Malfoy sneered as he spotted two fourth years Malcolm Baddock and Graham Pritchard duelling with two other Gryffindors, Dennis Creevey and Natalie McDonald. When Natalie McDonald put Graham Pritchard into a full body bind, he slowly stood up and went over to the door and leant his back against the wall, watching. The three left stared up at him, Malcolm Baddock spraying with relief while the two others scared to death.

'Now, now… Attacking your peers in a school corridor Miss McDonald. I'm afraid I don't appreciate that as Head Boy.' He said, looking deeply into the girl's eyes, performing Mordere. In a few seconds, the girl started shaking uncontrollably and Draco could see the memories of her past inside his brain. She couldn't break eye contact, despite how much she wanted to. She moved onto another memory, which was more recent, as she collapsed on the ground, still involuntarily staring into his eyes.

He was suddenly knocked onto the ground by the force of a pretty harsh curse. He stood up back again, rubbing his forehead. He looked up and saw the three familiar faces. Everybody passing by had stopped and was staring at them. Blaise and Pansy had rose from their sides and were slowly walking towards them.

Natalie McDonald just stood up, silently thanked Hermione and left, dragging Dennis Creevey with her. Malcolm Baddock levitated Graham Pritchard's unconscious body and left for the Hospital Wing.

Blaise and Pansy arrived, and took their places next to Draco Malfoy, waiting for an explanation and meanwhile toying with their wands threateningly. Finally, breaking the grim silence, Hermione spoke.

"Mr. Malfoy, what you just did, was not moral. As Head Boy, you should have known that attacking students isn't proper." She said, putting up a great act.

_No one would have suspected they were enemies, except the whole school already knew. They never attacked one another physically. Their war was inside. It was not shown to public._

Draco Malfoy folded his arms in the aristocratic way he always did and between gritted teeth, he forced himself to say

"I am perfectly aware of the situation, Miss Granger. However, Miss McDonald was attacking Mr. Pritchard from Slytherin and I ought to have stopped her. But I can assure you, no such thing will repeat. Thank you for warning me."

Proving he was a better actor than Hermione. Before this war begun, they were just normal enemies. They could have cursed and attacked each other then. But now, it was a different situation. They were the leaders. They were in war. And they had to put up acts. Just like how it was in real life. When two countries are in war, the leaders do not harm each other. The armies are the ones who fight. The Leaders keep their nobility up until the war is over.

Hermione briefly nodded and turned around, leading towards the dungeon. She glanced back and her eyes met Draco Malfoy's. He narrowed his eyes and glared at her, venom pouring from his steely grey eyes, turning into a violent serpent, ready to attack, to destroy, to kill. She felt him search through her mind and suddenly she was overwhelmed by a surge of fear and pain. She immediately blocked her mind, with the help of Occlumency and threw him out of her mind. She continued walking towards her usual spot beside Harry Potter, not before throwing another evil glare at him.

_They showed their teeth only when necessary, otherwise acting civil and mannerly._

She sat down as the Potions Master arrived, looking more worn-out than usual. He was too busy helping the Order, yet teaching at the same time. He looked pale and drawn. His greasy black hair was uncombed and messy, falling around his eyes, which had purple rings underneath, proving his lassitude.

He tossed his textbook on the large desk and crashed down onto the chair. He muttered a spell towards the blackboard, immediately filling it with scribbled instructions to a complex potion.

He muttered some stuff about the ingredients cupboard and cauldrons and leaned back in his comfortable chair gazing blankly at the class who was preparing to brew an advanced level potion. He spotted Neville Longbottom, who was holding Gillyweed in one hand and Venomous Tentacula in the other, trying to distinguish the difference between them. Neville let out a low scream as the spiky and dark red plant started reaching his vines out to him, and he dropped it.

Neville Longbottom had drastically changed in two years. He still held the traces of the forgetful and clumsy boy he used to be, but as the war drew closer, he mentally prepared himself for it. His parents had been tortured to insanity for this war. And if he had went on like that, he would share the same fate as them. He grew courageous, just like a real Gryffindor. He also helped Dumbledore a lot. But that didn't change the fact that he sucked at potions.

Hermione Granger hurried towards him and gathered all the ingredients for him, which did not include Venomous Tentacula, nor Gillyweed. Just like she used to. Not many things were the same in Hogwarts nowadays, but Hermione Granger helping Neville Longbottom was one of those rare things that hadn't changed. Snape just grunted but didn't open his mouth to say anything. It was kind of nice to see at least something stayed the same in Hogwarts, disregarding the fact that it was something he did not approve of, still.

ooo-ooo-ooo

It was a wonderful day, announcing the final arrival of summer. Flowers were blooming out of everywhere, gracing the earth with generous shades of pink and orange. The sun was shining brightly in a fiery orange, warming up the weather. Clouds were nowhere to be seen, leaving a wonderful blue sky in the view. Various shades of green were sparkling through the great castle of Hogwarts. The cheery chattering of the students, muffled by the gleeful chirping of the birds were still audible from the large school garden.

It was a day, where all the students of Hogwarts were enjoying the sunshine, Slytherin and Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, all lazing on the cool grass, releasing the thought of war from their mind for one single day.

He stepped out to the garden, inhaling the scent of pure oxygen, feeling the freshness and vitality flow through his veins. He frowned when he saw everyone smiling and enjoying themselves. He gazed around for a familiar face and grunted when he saw Blaise and Pansy snogging under a tree.

He had thought they would be doing more important stuff, but they had a right to have a last day of happiness. After tomorrow, nothing would be the same. Nothing.

He searched the garden again, not wanting to interrupt the couple. He smirked when he saw the trio staring up at him from where they were, their wands ready. He threw a glare at them and walked back into the castle. What they would be learning tonight, would be depressing. Very depressing indeed.

ooo-ooo-ooo

It was dinner time. The noise of metal touching porcelain sharply died out when two figures rose from one of the long tables. The other table, including Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger had drawn their wands and were carefully watching the couple who took their time walking over. They didn't feel like attacking in front of teachers, but if those two proved it necessary, they wouldn't hesitate.

Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson slowly got closer to the table, their chests held proudly up high. Parkinson gestured them to put their wands away, but no one obliged.

Harry Potter silently and reluctantly told them to keep the wands down, when he saw her raise an eyebrow. She wouldn't come over to attack into the house of the rival.

Ron Weasley, on the other hand, was trying to calm Hermione Granger down, who got murderous whenever she acknowledged the presence of the inhumane thing who had given the order to kill her parents.

To be honest, he wasn't succeeding, as she started hissing words which he could not quite comprehend at the moment, since he was having a hard time keeping her seated. He could feel her tensing up, and he caught Parkinson throw a nervous glance towards her before she dared to take another step.

He ignored Blaise Zabini staring at him, almost as bad as Hermione was to Pansy Parkinson. His concerns were on a different route at the moment. He whispered something to Neville Longbottom who was sitting opposite her, to do something.

He should have known better. The spell he sent her made the fiery look in her eyes grow even darker. "What did you do?" he mouthed at him. Neville gave an apologetic look as he mouthed back "_Silencio_". Silencing spells did not calm people down! He decided to use his last hope, drawing a tiny bottle from his inner pocket of school robes, which held a candy pink liquid inside it. He prompted her to drink her pumpkin juice, and she quickly took a sip, not noticing it's colour held a tint of pink in it.

The Draught of Peace. Useful at all times, he mused.

Meanwhile, Pansy and Blaise had reached the table. Harry, along with the rest of the table, was throwing them inquiring looks. They tried to pretend they didn't take any notice.

"Play along Potter." The boy whispered. Harry got the message. They were going to play the leaders. However, that didn't make his hand leave his pocket, where he was toying with his wand. He knew spells that could drive them off.

Luckily, his curiosity got the best of him. Pansy sat down next to Lavender Brown, pushing her slightly onto Seamus Finnigan, who grunted rather loudly.

"How are you Harry?" she chirped in a mock-sweet tone.

"Spill it." He demanded. Well, if he didn't want to act, that was just fine with her. Her face turned into a far more serious look as she started speaking once again. For a brief moment, Harry couldn't help but wonder if the owner of this voice was the same as the last.

"Fine. Draco is coming over to this table. To speak to you. Do not attack." she said and turned to leave. She turned around, refraining herself form giving a cry of pain as she felt a muscular arm grab her wrist.

"What do you think you're doing." She hissed.

"There – is – no – fucking – way – Draco Malfoy is coming to this table. As I see you are perfectly capable of speaking, you can say what you have to." There were murmurs of agreement from the table. They would not tolerate the King of Slytherin around their table.

"Draco will be here, and he will talk to you Potter. That's final. You have to learn how to face your fears." Blaise Zabini spat.

"You wish."

Damn it. Sneaky Slytherins. They knew his weak point. He pushed his plate way from him, indicating his loss of appetite. He gulped down a goblet full of pumpkin juice, wondering what was taking the King of Slytherin to get his bloody arse out of his seat. He realised what was going on.

A few minutes later, Draco Malfoy rose from the Slytherin table, and lazily walked towards the other table, trying to make the two visits look unrelated, which was ridiculous.

Three people leaving their own tables and coming over to the other side just to have a friendly chat, wasn't something which happened every day. In fact, when he thought about it once again, he found out that it had never happened.

Behind her, he could feel Parvati Patil staring at her twin sister over at the other table. It was wondrous the Hat had put them into different houses. It was astounding that now, they were sitting at opposite tables.

Siblings didn't necessarily have to be the exact same, but since they were twins, identical twins never the less, he guessed they would have had a tiny bit in common. What proved him wrong was the sight of the two sisters glaring at each other form a distance.

The war had stolen many things for them, and they had had to make many sacrifices. He hadn't thought if all of this was worth it or not. He just was trained to do his job.

He snapped back to reality, when his eyes caught a wisp of platinum blond hair coming closer to him. He came closer, his face still up proudly. Merlin, he was an actor.

He calmly sat down at the edge of the bench, right next to Lavender Brown, who had to scoot over, once again, pushing Seamus Finnigan to the side rather roughly and this time, causing him to grunt even louder.

Everybody's eyes were transfixed on the blond Slytherin, whose pointed visage was facing Potter.

Harry felt his gaze wonder off to his forehead once again, before he said any word, just to make sure _it_ was still there.

"Yes, Malfoy. I'm listening." He said, trying to sound as formal as possible. What he got as a reply, wasn't something he had been expecting.

"Listen you son of a bitch. I'm not going to be nice. The war is tomorrow. If it were for me, I would rather not tell you, but since the situation is out of my control, and the Dark Lord seems to prefer warning you before he attacks, I had to. Now, stop staring me like an idiot or I will have to rip you into pieces earlier than I intend to." He stood up and tried to ignore the dozens of wands pointing at him.

What happened in a few seconds could be defined with many words, the most precise one being -

Chaos.

Numerous curses and hexes flew towards the King of Slytherin. Brilliant blue jolted along crimson red, as jet black flew past creamy white. A mixture of colours rushed towards the blond, he just stood there, doing nothing.

What happened next, could be only defined by one single word –

Miracle.

An invisible shield formed around him, absorbing every curse sent at him. There wasn't any spell to do that. Nothing could block almost fifty hexes sent at you. Not even Dark Magic. Nothing.

He turned around.

"Good Luck." he spat, smirking as he saw the puzzled faced of the students staring up at him.

ooo-ooo-ooo

It was official now. The real war was tomorrow. Draco Malfoy had clearly stated it, in a rather rude way. Dumbledore was back in the Castle, and he was taking the last precautions to make sure he delayed their entrance as much as he possibly could.

McGonagall had sent all the younger students home, which left the castle only with the fourth years and higher. Some, especially from muggle parentage had also requested to leave and they had left earlier during the day. The Order had taken its place in the castle, ready to defend.

Meanwhile, back in the common rooms, the last plans were made, ready to fight, to wound, to torture, to kill.

Ready for war.

Midnight held the Gryffindor tower under a gloomy shadow. After urging the younger ones to bed, the sixth and seventh years were the only ones left in the Gryffindor Common Room. Older students from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were reclining on the cosy couches in front of the roaring fire, listening to the instructions Harry Potter and Ron Weasley gave them.

Hermione Granger was alone in the library, doing her final researches and revising any Dark Magic she could remember. She didn't intend on playing the angel. No, she was going to fight. The only obstacle in front of her, was her incapability of performing the Killing Curse. She felt her cheeks flush with what she had been afraid to admit to herself for so long. Perhaps she really was an angel underneath…

Draco Malfoy was in the Slytherin Common Room, giving the last instructions to those who hadn't left. A tall, dark haired sixth year Ravenclaw stood up and kindly summarised his words for him

"So you're basically telling us to die, Malfoy!"

"That's exactly what I'm saying. Because you will anyway." He said, grinning. They still weren't used to the fact that they weren't going to survive the next day. They were all going to die, in this castle.

"Well then I'm not fighting." The tall boy stated.

"Come here boy. What's your name?" he demanded in a dangerously calm tone.

"A – Anthony Bowman" the boy stuttered.

"Very well Anthony." He said, staring into the boy's eyes, performing Mordere. "You will fight. You will fight, because if you do not, you will get killed anyway. If you do not, then I will kill you myself. And don't stare at me like that, you know I would." The boy started shaking, remembering Merlin-knows-what from his painful memories. "You can't and won't gain anything without fighting. You will only prove your cowardice. If we conquer, you will be murdered by the Dark Lord himself. If the other side conquers, you will be in Azkaban and your soul will be sucked out of your body. Therefore, you will fight." He declared, finalizing his speech, yet not breaking the eye contact. The boy was about to pass out from fear and pain. Perhaps he had crossed the line, a little.

_Kill or get killed._

He stopped, leaving himself with a severe headache. His mind had gone blank from performing Mordere too often. The only negative point of Mordere was that, if you used it for too long it slightly blanked your mind out for a short period of time. His sight was blurry. He motioned for Blaise and Pansy to continue and left the Slytherin Common room, not knowing where he was going.

His footsteps echoed in the silent corridors, which very much reminded him of the calm before the storm. Tomorrow, there would be blood here. Many people would die. But he was not going to be one of them.

He found himself in the library, which was quieter than usual. He just walked on, where his feet dragged him. Then he saw the person, he least expected to be alone. She didn't seem to notice him. She was trailing her finger on the pages of an old book of Dark Magic. He laughed at the irony of the situation. Pure and innocent Miss Granger enthusiastically reading a book about Dark Magic. He would have known better than to speak to her, but after performing a hell load of Mordere, he couldn't think clear.

"Fascinating, aren't they Granger. The Dark Arts?" he drawled, causing her to gasp from the sudden distraction. She immediately got on her feet, her wand pointing at him threateningly.

He was too quick for her. He drew his wand in a flash of second and before she knew it, she was disarmed.

"You're not attacking me Malfoy?" she asked, with a tone of surprise in her voice.

"No, I daresay that attacking you, tonight, where no one can see, would not satisfy me. But I will, in fact, kill you tomorrow. I promise." He replied coolly.

She moved closer to him, now sure he wouldn't harm her and stopped when there were mere inches between them. She stared into his deep grey eyes, her own burning with hatred.

"The honour will be mine." She whispered and turned to leave. He grabbed her wrist and shoved her against the wall. Before she could say anything, he attacked her lips and kissed her hungrily. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer to him, holding her in a tight grip. She was struggling and trying to push him off, but he was too strong for her.

She finally dug her nails into her neck, and seized her chance when he flinched. She ran, not looking behind and when she made her way to the Gryffindor tower, she was panting heavily.

Draco Malfoy just stood there, his mind still blurry from Morderens. But his blank mind grasped something. What he had just done had felt good, and he wanted to do it again, and again, and again…

ooo-ooo-ooo

The whole school was up by dawn and was ready to defend and attack. It was here. The Final War. The war, which would destine the future of the Wizarding World.

The members of the Order were standing outside the castle bravely. All the students were inside the castle, waiting. Many people were hugging each other and most, whispering their last words.

And then they came, through the Forbidden Forest. Figures with black cloaks, their faces hidden under hoods.

Dumbledore stood forwards, as the tradition of the war and started making his speech.

His voice was unheard from the castle, but what happened after that, was clearly visible. After he had finalized his speech, a tall and thin figure, Voldemort, stepped forward, as if to say something but instead he pointed his wand at him and a green flash of light flew from his wand, hitting Dumbledore square in the chest.

_They fought unfair, cheating and harsh. There were no rules. Damage and survive._

He hit the floor, dead. The Death Eaters knew not of War rules. They were there to win, and if they had to cheat, they would. No one had expected this. They were outright cheaters, but then again, they were Death Eaters.

Before the members of the Order could save themselves, most of them were killed. A few who managed to survive, barely made it into the castle. The Death Eaters also advanced towards the castle and started killing every living being that came into their way, while some dropping dead themselves.

Hermione hugged both Harry and Ron tightly, still keeping a small bit of hope that this wouldn't be the last time she saw them. She left with Ginny for the Greenhouses, they were going to fight there.

ooo-ooo-ooo

"Where is he?" roared Harry Potter, who had Walden Macnair at his feet, disarmed and begging for his life. Ron Weasley was next to him, watching out in case.

"I don't know."

"LIAR" he bawled. "_Crucio."_

Macnair, immediately fell on the floor, twitching with pain. After he was released, he choked

"The Dungeons."

Harry left towards the staircase with Ron, who didn't forget to send a quick killing curse towards Macnair. On the second step down, they spotted Seamus Finnigan who yelled

"Harry! Don't go down! You-know-who is there!"

Ron seized the boy's arm and pulled him close.

"Seamus, where is he?"

"Downstairs, don't go!"

"HARRY HAS TO KILL VOLDEMORT!" he bellowed, just to make sure the truth sunk in.

"Oh yes. I guess I forgot. Anyway, go down, go for the second dungeon on the left. He should be there. If you see any of the other Death Eaters, then just leave. Run, and don't look back." he explained and continued running. Seconds later, Harry and Ron heard the last cry he gave out before he was murdered by one of the Slytherins.

ooo-ooo-ooo

Draco Malfoy was just standing there, his back leant against the wall, surrounded by the invisible shield, watching the whole chaos. He was killing off the people who raised a wand at him, which so far included Dean Thomas, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Ernie Macmillan and Seamus Finnigan. He saw Neville Longbottom kill Bellatrix Lestrange, whom he had sworn to take revenge from. Pathetic, that was. Neville Longbottom had just killed his aunt. He aimed at him and didn't even bother to look, as he let out a painful cry. The cry of death.

Then he saw two figures he knew too well. Duelling. Narcissa Malfoy and Severus Snape. He watched them for almost a minute and then sent two killing curses, each. He looked down at his mother's slim figure lying next to his Potions Master. Perhaps these two were the only people he killed, without smiling afterwards.

He left for the corridor on the left, which was the path towards the Greenhouses. He entered Greenhouse number one and he saw Ginny Weasley alive, hardly standing up, numbly staring at the dead bodies of Rodolphus Lestrange and Antonin Dolohov.

When she saw him, she pointed his wand at him and helplessly tried to send a curse at him. He used a simple shield charm, bouncing the spell off him, which was a Bat-Bogey hex. Man, this girl had it in for him and that hex. He still hadn't forgotten what happened during their fifth year. She sent another curse at him, which missed and hit the pot next to him, causing it to erupt into flames.

He killed her off too, before spotting Hermione Granger sneak into a Greenhouse number two, hoping he hadn't seen her. One of the plants in Greenhouse number one had caught fire, and the flames were slowly moving towards Greenhouse two.

He moved towards the door, whispering "_Alohomora"._ He door creaked. He pushed it open with his foot. Then, he saw her. She was standing in the very corner, her wand raised.

"Hello Granger." He smirked and advanced towards her, his wand ready but not pointed up, yet.

"What did you do to Ginny?" she asked, her frail voice trying to conceal her panic and fear.

"Killed her." He said casually.

"You – you bastard!" she tried to scream, but coughed out her failure as the smoke made its way through her throat. She sent a pathetic Cruciatus Curse at him, but it died out before it reached him. Weak. He advanced towards her.

"Remind me Granger, what did I tell you last night." He demanded sarcastically.

Her lower lip trembled.

"True, I promised you I'd kill you."

She let out a small whimper.

He snatched the wand out of her weak grip, causing her to collapse on the floor with the loss of the only protection she had left.

"I don't want to stain my hands with your worthless blood, really." He said snottily.

A small tear fell across her cheek, leaving a wet trail.

"But Malfoys keep their promises."

He bent down.

"_Imperio"_ he whispered hoarsely into her ear, his breath warming the very small distance between them. He moved even closer, so that he could feel her trembling underneath, his lips brushing her temple. "_Kill yourself_."

ooo-ooo-ooo

Harry Potter and Ron Weasley reached the Dungeons, and they stopped in front of the second door to the left. Harry had to go on alone after this. They shared a manly hug, Ron deeply wondering whether his best friend would make it alive out of there.

He stood in front of the door, at least trying to prevent anyone else from entering. A few minutes later, Blaise Zabini came. They both drew their wands at the same time, and Ron shut his eyes as he sent a blinding curse at Blaise. He opened his eyes and saw a streak of green light, flying towards –

Blaise. Even before his own blinding spell hit the boy, he fell onto the ground, his eyes wide open. Ron just stared down, not looking around for the identity of the one who killed him.

He muttered "Thanks." Still in awe of what just happened

"You're welcome, Weasley." A familiar voice came from behind. Ron sharply turned around, to the source of the voice, he hadn't expected at all.

"MALFOY! WHAT THE FUCK! WHY DID – "

The answer wasn't unexpected.

"_Avada Kedavra" _Immediately, the dead body of the redhead fell on the floor, his face still up in a puzzled expression.

The blond kicked aside the corpses of Blaise Zabini and Ron Weasley, to open the door. He saw the two enemies staring at each other, their wands up high, but not able to do anything. They were complete idiots.

They had wands with the same core. Brother wands did not cast offensive spells against one another. Voldemort let out a high laugh as he saw the son of his most loyal Death Eater enter the room.

"You're dead, Potter." He laughed again, turning his terrifying snakelike face towards Draco, his red, slit-like eyes staring into his cold grey eyes.

"Kill him." He ordered, and turned back to Harry, who looked mortified.

Draco Malfoy drew his wand, pointing it towards Harry.

"I will." He said, in a matter-of-fact tone, but abruptly changed the direction of the wand, so it was pointing Voldemort. "But before that, I have another thing to do." He paused before he bellowed "_Inficio!_"

A black liquid shot out of his wand. It seemed to be acid, because it seemed to rip Voldemort's skin to pieces. Harry stared in shock as Voldemort was slowly devoured by the curse.

He turned to look at Draco Malfoy and uttered his last word before his painless death.

'Why.'

Draco snatched both their wands in half and left the dungeon. He saw Pansy Parkinson, leaning over a dead body, tears staining her face. She slightly lifted her head up from Blaise Zabini's body and stared at him accusingly. Somehow, she knew. He didn't know why, he didn't know how. She just knew.

From that moment on, they weren't friends. The last look she gave him ended everything they had shared for seven whole years. She wasn't Pansy for him anymore, she was Parkinson. He wasn't Draco for her either. He was Malfoy.

He continued walking. The corridors were silent, full of corpses. The stairs were dripping blood. Just like he had predicted. On the way, he saw the unmistakable profile of his father, who was kicking around the dead body of Remus Lupin, a maniacal smile on his face. The smile of unexpected victory. However, his smile vanished in a second. Lucius Malfoy raised his wand as he saw his son come closer, carrying a hint of the same smile.

Draco killed his father, before he could kill him.

With the last Death Eater dead, the war ended.

No one won.

Not Voldemort.

Not Potter.

Everybody lost.

Except him.

**_December21, 1998_**

The dying ambers of the fire were shining onto his pointed face, reflecting upon his silken hair. He was lazing on the couch, and absentmindedly fiddling with the expensive material of his robe. He went to open the window.

There was a cool and windy weather outside. Anything which could have illuminated the sky was concealed under a mask of utter darkness. Completed by the deathly silence, it formed a figure of misery hanging over the Manor.

He took a deep breath, the frigid air of early winter burning through his throat and drying it up. He coughed as he felt a strange feeling run up through his pointed nose. Winter wasn't his season. He coughed again out to the silence, before shutting the window tight close.

He headed towards the other side of the room, where the cat had woken up due to the frigid weather entering the room. He peeled her sharp nails off the velvet material of her basket, ignoring the fight she put up. He carried her towards the couch. She started getting fidgety and wrestled in his arms to jump off.

"Stay still." He commanded irritably. He sat down on the couch and he drew his wand, pointing it towards her. She quickly reached out a paw and clawed his arm.

"Don't move." He said once again rubbing the deep scratch on his forearm. He grabbed the cat by the paw, causing it to hiss with pain. A flash of blue-white light illuminated the room, for the fire had already died out. The shadows reflected onto the wall, as her figure slowly started growing bigger, her pointed ears went down into normally shaped ones. Her glossy black fur turned into a black silk nightgown, her paws formed human hands. Perhaps the only thing which stayed the same where the large, brown eyes. Her eyes tried to adjust the light, for she now looked from human eyes. She wasn't used to not seeing everything around her. Cats saw everything. She fell onto his lap, shivering with the odd sensation of silk contacting skin.

"Now, that's better, isn't it Hermione, dear?" he asked her, smirking devilishly.

She hissed in a cat-like manner, unable to sound anything close to human as she tried to sit up.

"_Imperio" he whispered hoarsely into her ear, his breath warming the very small distance between them. He moved even closer, so that he could feel her trembling underneath, his lips brushing her temple. "Kill yourself."_

He could see the conflict burning in her eyes. She struggled to fight back her own hands groping her neck. Her long nails had already started forming red marks on her neck, but then-

She managed. She managed to survive. He had known she was too powerful. He hadn't really wanted her dead. He had attempted to see her power. How could you want to injure one whose lips had felt so good against yours, even though she had broke it off. How could you possibly want to see her flawless skin scathed. Least of all, how could you wanted her dead, when you knew you wanted to kiss her _again, and again, and again…_

She tried to say something, her voice not going any further than a light meow. He conjured two glasses in the darkness and poured some champagne into them. He bent down to give her a kiss, but to his wrath, was interrupted.

He went off to the door, causing her to drop down onto the sofa, and opened it. He gazed in to the darkness, but saw no one. He turned back, and saw the window open. A cold wind was again blowing into the room, causing the nightgown to draw up to her thighs, exposing fresh skin. Winter might be his season.

He came back and saw his prey lying down motionlessly on the couch, her eyelids loosely shut, her eyelashes flickering with the wind. He bent down once again to complete what he had begun. He kissed her lips softly at first. It wasn't that hard to make his way into her mouth, since her lips were already slightly parted. He kissed her for a while, surprised that she didn't spend any effort to fight back. Maybe staying in animagus form for too long had it's side effects. Or maybe, a tiny hope, she had gotten used to him.

He only grasped he was kissing a dead body when he realised that the usually sweet, candy-like taste in her mouth had altered to taste very oddly like -

Poison.

* * *


End file.
